


Roll

by ijemanja



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s10e20 Unending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-06
Updated: 2008-03-06
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/pseuds/ijemanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the episode 'Unending', Cam is kind of emo, Vala is kind of not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll

The next time it happens, the very next day in fact, he hears her coming. It's a big ship, and two days in a row is probably not a coincidence. So, she's been looking for him.

She's lonely, he thinks. They all are.

He moves over to hug the wall, giving her room to pass. Maybe she was expecting to go by on the left instead of the right, but two seconds later she's sprawled on her face and he's just barely managing not to join her.

Her knee is banged up, he sees as she rolls over. He hunches at her feet, starting to work on her laces.

"It's called protective gear," he says, as she sits there resting back on bruised hands. "Get Sam to dial you up some."

*

Four days later she's back on her feet - or wheels - whatever. She's wearing purple wrist guards and a skirt that flutters around her thighs as she passes by, managing it without the three stooges act this time.

She flips around and starts skating backwards away from him down the long empty corridor.

"You're better than you were the other day," he says, not unimpressed. His eyes track the dark mottling on her knee. At least the swelling's gone down.

"You're slower than you were the other day," she counters, turning to face forward again and speeding up, leaving him for dust.

*

The day after that, she comes up to him at a leisurely pace and draws alongside, matching his speed.

He doesn't know why until her hip shoots out and into his.

On wheels, she's got no traction and she's thrown off course more than he is, careening off the wall while he misses a step and almost trips. "Hey!" He throws out a hand to grab for her but only brushes the hem of her jacket.

She's already away. "Still too slow," she calls over her shoulder, her laughter echoing in her wake.

*

The next time, two days later, he puts on speed the moment he hears the skittering of the skates on the flooring. He's got a good head start and he's at a full sprint by the time she catches him up. He stays to the middle so she can't pass without risking another face-plant, but she does anyway, barrelling through at speed, muscling him aside with her elbow. He tries to return the favour but she slips through the gap, too fast on those damn skates.

But they're near the end of the corridor anyway, coming up on a T-section and she's going too fast to stop gracefully - hands out, she catches herself, almost falls.

He gets there a second later, catching her on the rebound. He hasn't slowed any, either, driving her into the wall with his momentum. When he reaches a full stop she's laughing, trapped there between him and the bulkhead, palms flexing against the flat surface as she braces herself up.

No wrist guards today - the initial impact must have hurt, he thinks. More war wounds. And he's thinking about this because he's not thinking about how he's not moving away. He's staying right where he is, hands planted on either side of her head, body leaning but not quite touching.

"I won," she pants. She hasn't turned around; face angled to the side, she's watching him from behind her hair.

"Rollergirl versus puny human," he pants back. "You don't fight fair."

"You have the advantage now." She rolls back a little, unsteady on her skates but the move is anything but accidental. Her hair brushes his face and he straightens, but doesn't move away. "Feel better?"

"Getting there," he breathes. Nose in her hair, he smells flowers and berries. He lifts one hand off the wall beside her head to move her hair to one side, exposing the skin of her neck and shoulder right under his mouth.

Her hands come down to rest lightly against the tops of his thighs. "Puny, did you say? I think you underestimate yourself."

*

She still hasn't moved, hasn't tried to duck away under his arm. He couldn't say what she's thinking, he just knows he's _not_ when he steps in, closing the distance.

She gasps and pushes back, not to throw him off, but to get closer still. She's never been one to turn down attention, and she rubs herself against him like a cat, relying on him to keep her upright as her feet shift on the wheels.

Normally, he'd pull away, would have pulled away first thing and never started any of it.

He'd never do this, period, but everything is different now. He's going more than a little nuts on this ship; more than a little, and a little more every day.

He slides his hand from her hip up her torso and she arcs her back as his palm covers her breast.

He'd never do this, normally. But she's not complaining and he's not - it's not like he's got anything better to do.

*

"Wait," she's saying a few minutes later.

He's got a hand cupping her through her tiny jean shorts and the other up under her shirt when everything stills. "What."

"You need to work a little frustration out, I get that. Believe me, I'm right there with you. One condition, though. Daniel - I don't want him knowing."

"Heard he tossed you out on your ass again. What makes you think he'd give a damn?"

"That's the rule, take it or leave it. You do want this, don't you?"

Her upper body twists round, hair in his face till her mouth is there, catching at his. He kisses her for a moment, before pulling his head back out of reach. "Mmm. What makes you think I want Jackson's rejects?"

"The fact that your dick is poking into my back so hard I'm in danger of a bruised kidney? Just a thought."

He pauses, fighting a grin. "Good point."

*

She's the one who pushes his hand down into her panties. He finds her slippery with want and their fingers slide together through her folds.

"In case you were wondering," she manages, voice husky and her head lolling back on his shoulder, "I'm really enjoying this. I like it this way, what you're doing."

"Good to know." He uses his free hand and pushes her off him to lean forwards again, up against the bare grey panelling.

"I always wondered whether you'd be any good at sex, Mitchell. You're wound so tightly, but I should have known. You've got focus, and drive, and great big shoulders. I like that in a man."

Same hand, down the back of her shorts now, sliding over her ass and taking the shorts and underwear with it.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" She's breathing heavy, and it's got nothing to do with their madcap dash down the hallway that stretches away behind them. "You are, you're going to do me right here up against this wall where anyone could just walk by and find us."

He's got two fingers sunk deep inside her, and _anyone_? That's a good one. Any of exactly four people might come along, sure, but they won't. They all stay in their own corners these days, giving each other space. Problem being there's never enough space to be had.

She shudders then, clenching her muscles around his fingers.

"I just didn't think you had it in you," she says.

*

The first thrust is too much, too fast. She makes a noise, lips pressed tight - it's not a good noise and he holds still, lowers his mouth to her shoulder, says "sorry," while he waits for her to adjust.

Forehead resting on the wall, she shakes her head back and forth. "Don't stop." He drags his lips across her nape, holding out a little longer. The skates put her at exactly the right height for this, but she's got no leverage and it's working against them, all she can do to hold steady. Now, slow and careful, she tilts one foot forward so she's leaning on the brake, and suddenly she's stable enough to push back into him, which is exactly what she does. "Not now," she says. "When we were just getting somewhere."

He strokes her thighs, rubs his thumbs under the sweet curves of her ass where the skin is silky as it is sensitive. She's impatient, wriggling, and he uses his thumbs, pulls her open, draws out and drives back in again.

She makes another noise but it's a little different than the last one.

"Better?"

"Getting there."

He worries his teeth on the tendon curving up the side of her neck, and starts to find his rhythm.

It feels good, burying himself in her, over and over again, like he could forget where he is and why and just know this instead, deep and warm and good.

*

Palm, shoulder, and face are flat to the wall and she's fingering herself with her free hand while he holds her hips in place and drives up into her.

She's getting close, he can tell, and good thing too because he's not planning on holding out much longer.

And she talks all the while, talks dirty - sure, this is Vala at the best of times, only it's real now, not just playing.

"It's big Mitchell and I mean, I knew you were big, I've seen you naked often enough. I knew it but there's nothing - mmm - there's nothing like a change in perspective to get the point across."

"Never had any complaints," he bites out.

"I'm sure. Do you do all the girls like this? That nice girl from your home - did you ever get to give her the full Cameron Mitchell experience? Because I really -"

She's never going to stop talking, he decides. But with his senses full of flowers and berries and Vala's voice ringing in his ears it all starts to run together anyway, in his head and then for real as her words draw out into one long, low cry. He pulls her back into him, harder. He can feel it building up fast now.

*

He fixes his pants, ignoring the damp, then helps with her shorts, easing them back up over her hips.

She turns halfway, braced on her forearm. "Help," she says, grabbing for his hand. Her legs are visibly shaking and he supports her as she slides down the wall to sit.

He goes down with her, suddenly exhausted and maybe, for the first time in weeks, feeling like he doesn't want to punch something.

She's smiling a little as she watches him. "That's better," she says. And maybe she's talking about getting off her feet and maybe she's talking about something else. Either way he agrees, and then she's pointing, wordlessly indicating he should be doing something about those feet of hers, already.

He does as he's told, finding himself performing the same service for the second time in a week - picking at the laces, easing the skates off her feet one after the other, leaving the socks.

"You okay?" he asks, one hand rubbing up from her ankle to her knee. He's remembering, suddenly, how much he cares about her, that she's SG1 and what that means. There's something wrong here, with him, that it takes something like this to jolt his memory. But he doesn't know how to fix it.

"You're very good at that," she replies, biting her lip through her grin. For once it comes across sweet rather than flirtatious. Her hand closes around his arm. "Now help me up."

"Maybe you should be helping me up."

She wins. Their wrists clasped, he draws her up with him when he struggles to his feet.

*

He realises they've left the skates lying there on the floor, but only once they're already halfway back the way they'd come.

"Leave them, I'll come back later." She has hold of his arm and draws him along and he doesn't argue. It makes a nice change.

*

The next day, he jogs down the same corridor and sees that the skates are gone.

*

A few days after that, he jogs down the same corridor, and manages not to slow when he reaches that same spot.

He decides against finding an alternative route. It's a big ship, but it seems a little smaller every day and there just aren't that many alternatives to find.

*

And the day after that, jogging down the same corridor, only the sound of his footfalls bouncing off the walls, he finds himself listening for the sound of wheels.

Even though he knows he might just be listening forever.


End file.
